As I ascend to the seventeenth floor of the Ritz-Carlton, I feel something clawing at the inside of my stomach. Could I be worried that Jay Strut won’t like me? Or worse yet, that maybe I will actually like him? It’s not that I went into this with anything against Jay, but when you’re as recognizable as he is — with the doors opened to the city’s most exclusive events and friends at the highest levels of society – and with a relatively short list of tangible accomplishments, he does open himself up to skepticism and jealousy. Read More
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